The Purchase
by BallinBlonde21
Summary: Jace has a personal vendetta with one of the largest sex trafficking groups in the world, dubbing themselves "The Starlight Club." It's his personal mission to take down their leader, but after a routine infiltration of the auction, Jace finds himself buying a girl. Will she help him take it down, or will her secret past keep her silent? I DON'T OWN ANYTHING BUT MY DREAMS! *sigh*
1. Chapter 1

_New story! Sorry, I have three going right now, but when inspiration strikes, there's no stopping it! And at such rate, you have to share it with the world! ANYWAYYYYS...I hope you enjoy!_

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"This way, Mr. Wayland," a busty blonde purred, hungrily drinking him in with her unusually blue eyes. She smiled, her pink lips parting to reveal a perfect set of teeth, probably whitened and straightened brutally until the owner was satisfied. He merely nodded his head, accepting a glass of champagne offered to him. She reluctantly turned around, expertly weaving through the leather recliners and the mingling gentleman. Jace followed, taking in the soft classical music emanating from a piano, the ivories being caressed by a tan woman, wearing nothing more than a scrap of fabric to cover her most intimate areas. The lighting was low, as if to hide the primal, lustful looks the men were giving to the women, who each wore expensive lingerie. Jace grimaced on the inside. This practice disgusted him. He'd often times dreamed of going vigilante and blowing the damned place up, but there were innocent women there. And he had to look at the bigger picture. "Ah, here we are, Mr. Wayland," she gestured toward a leather chair, a perfect match to the other dozen in the room. On the armrest were two buttons, flowing so seamlessly with the leather that if one had not known of their existence, they could easily be missed. Jace settled into the seat, trying not to show his hatred of this part of his job, while the blonde fussed about, making sure he was completely comfortable and asking if she could get him anything else.

"Something stronger than this, please," he said, sounding bored as he handed her the crystal flute of champagne. She nodded and scurried away, walking surprisingly quickly despite the ridiculously tall stilettos strapped to her feet. Jace rested his head against the chair, trying to control his breathing. He was used to women throwing themselves at him. He was used to undressing women and using them to ravish himself. But never were they unwilling. Never had he kidnapped, drugged, and forced himself upon a woman. Never had he bid on and purchased a woman as if she were nothing more than an antique lamp. He chewed his lip and drummed his fingers to the song, trying to forget the hopeless and sullen look of the woman creating the music. He felt a cool glass slide into his fingers and tossed the contents back without asking what it was. Scotch, he deduced as it burned down his throat, awakening him enough to see the blonde still waiting for him to say something. "Uh…thank you…"

"Kaelie," she supplied with a wink. She sashayed away from him to the group of greasy old millionaires who couldn't wait to place bids on the first young thing to hit the catwalk. The lights dimmed even more as brighter ones illuminated the stage. A soothing voice requested that everyone take their seat because the program would begin shortly. Jace snorted quietly. Program. That's what they were attempting to pass this off as. Jace had a few other names for this, and program was not in the top ten thousand. Jace fiddled with the glass in his hand as the men around him scurried to their designated chairs, not risking the chance of missing out on their "dream girl." The piano music stopped and a more upbeat song began playing, the curtains parting as the first woman stumbled out. She was all legs, her bust spilling over tight, black lingerie. She nearly tripped over her heels as she walked to the front, on full display for these sadistic, repulsive men, who had been more than successful financially but had lacked in the romantic department. _I can't imagine why_. Jace smirked to himself, knowing that after all these years of incognito and solitary work, his brain was wired to think in the most sarcastic of ways. It kept people from getting too close to him. From seeing him for what he truly was. From discovering his identity.

"Miss Shantelle," the announcer named the faceless brunette, who had finally made it to the front of the catwalk. Clicks resonated through the room as men bid for her, for her purity, for her beauty, for her love. Bile rose from Jace's stomach as the clicking subsided and the final sale price was announced. "$99 million to Mr. Arrowhead." A pudgy man in a too tight sports coat rose to his feet, smiling and waving as if he'd just won the presidential election. Jace really wanted to give him a congratulatory kick to the family jewels. Jace gritted his teeth. _Remember your place, Jace_. He'd finally infiltrated one of the larger auctions. He couldn't blow cover now. Not as he was getting closer to his goal. The girl was helped back down the catwalk by a man, who hastily grabbed her wrist and pulled her behind the curtain. Several other weak, drugged women were presented and sold, each man looking more pleased with his purchase than the next. "And now," the voice announced. It was said the way a sports announcer would announce the teams' starting lineups, yet Jace new better. Now they would bring out the woman considered to be the spotlight. The best of the best. The most sought after and predictably highest grossing captive they had. "It is the Starlight Club's pleasure to present to you, the 2014 highlight female." Jace barely wanted to look. He'd nearly left in the middle of the entire exhibition, feeling guilt and anger take root in his bones, but he'd remained, knowing he may never receive this opportunity again. At the collective appreciative noises from the other man, Jace just had to peak toward the stage. He didn't see the woman at first, but rather the two guards that dragged her by her wrists. She was on her knees, trying to put up a fight even though the drugs prevented any such attempt. At the front, the guards reached beneath her armpits, hauling her so harshly to her feet that her head snapped up, making the girl whimper. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face sullen and spotted in what appeared to be blood, her arms were discolored with bruises from either the rough guards or the shackles that kept her in bed, but that's not what made Jace gasp. She was strikingly beautiful, with pale skin and hair that was probably red and curly, though it was now dirty and limp. Her body was slim, the lingerie nearly falling off her malnourished frame, but that's still not what shocked Jace the most. This woman was young, more correctly defined as a girl. She could be no older than fifteen, sixteen at the most. Jace's fingers inched toward the button as her green eyes lazily roamed the crowd. They finally met his, and underneath the haze of the drugs, he saw the spark in them, the will to live, mingling with a silent plea of help, brightened by the idea of hope. He set his jaw and did something he'd never wanted nor dreamed he'd do. His index finger slammed the button home, feverishly clicking along with the other men who'd dreamed of taking her home. Jace knew he had to win her though, that he didn't want her for sex or companionship. No, he wanted to win because that little look gave him hope.

The clicking slowly died down as the bidding reached $200 million, an amount that barely dented Jace's trust fund and savings. Finally the room was silent, and the voice in the speaker surrounded him. "Sold. $225 million to Mr. Wayland." Jace didn't stand up and wave, he didn't swell with pride that he'd just purchased the most beautiful woman. He felt grateful toward the girl, not lustful. He had something grander than faked love. He had hope.

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_Well? Make my night and drop me a review?_


	2. Chapter 2

_So...another chapter! :) Yay! I had this done last night but FanFic wouldn't let me upload it...sigh. I don't know what happened. Anyways it's Easter tomorrow...will the bunny be bringing you anything special? I hope he brings me chocolate (Is the bunny a boy? I just kinda assumed since women don't willingly share chocolate...). Okay, okay, I'll stop rambling. Enjoy!_

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"What the hell did you do now, Jace?" Alec groaned as Jace kicked open the door to his studio apartment. Sometimes he severely regretted giving his brother a key. Jace maneuvered the redhead in his arms through the doorway and crossed the wooden floor to his bed, laying her gingerly in a comfortable position before pulling an afghan over her small, shivering frame. He automatically brushed a few stray curls from her face before acknowledging Alec's presence.

"Shhh, man, you'll wake her up!" Alec's eyes narrowed as Jace moved to the fridge, rummaging around for a cold Pepsi. He tossed one in Alec's direction, which he caught with a catlike lithe, making Jace wonder why Alec always volunteered to be the brains of his missions, never putting his skills into the field. Jace popped the top on his soda and tossed some of the dark liquid back, satisfied with the carbonation but severely missing the sting of alcohol. "I'll tell you everything. Just let me get her some water first." Alec plopped onto the couch and sighed, eying Jace as if he'd never seen him before.

"Oh, Jesus, man, what happened to you?" Jace ran his hands through his hair, knowing that Alec noticed the special treatment this girl was getting. Jace had never brought a girl to his apartment, let alone allowed her to sleep in his bed. He shut off the tap and set the glass on the counter, eyes focusing on Alec for the first time that night.

"I could ask you the same, big brother," Jace countered, taking in Alec's disheveled appearance. His black hair was a mess, sticking in all different directions with what seemed to be glitter in it and his blue eyes were rimmed with dark circles. "Alec got laid!" Jace sang. "Who was she? Was she hot? Did she have a name? Please tell me it was a normal name and not a prostitute name. Did you have to pay her?" Alec blushed bright crimson, and Jace snickered.

"Does _she_ have a name?" Alec gestured toward the girl in the room. Jace just shrugged and brought the water over to the bedside table. "Please, Jace, don't let this be one of your booty calls." Jace barked a laugh at the thought of this redhead being one of his booty calls. She was not at all his type. She was not well endowed. She was not curvy. She was not blonde with big eyes and tons of makeup on her face, and most importantly, she was not throwing herself at him. Plus she looked to young for him. Definitely too young for the sex trafficking business.

Jace sat down beside his brother and took another sip of Pepsi. "Nah, man. Not a booty call." He clapped a hand on Alec's shoulder, shaking his head, as if everything was normal. He grabbed the remote and flicked through television channels, settling on Scooby-Doo reruns.

"Jace," Alec clucked, tossing back the last of his soda, "you are such a child." Jace smirked.

"Rero, Raggy!" He ruffled Alec's hair, but his arm was promptly shoved away by his mildly annoyed older brother.

"Jace! The suspense is killing me! Aren't you going to tell me anything from tonight!" Jace snapped his fingers, pretending he had just remembered his mission. Alec glowered at him, crossing his arms like a hormonal teenager.

"Okay, okay, Alec! Don't get all pissy." Jace smoothed the front of his suit jacket down and delved into the details of the night, reliving the events as he spoke about them.

_As the regular lights came up, Jace rose from his seat, tossing golden tendrils out of his eyes just in time to see a short, thin man moving against the grain of traffic. The man, with a severe scar marring his face and a beak for a nose, grinned and extended his hand. Jace, after a moment's hesitation, took it in his own and gave it a hardy shake. "Hello, Mr. Wayland. I'm Hodge Starkweather." Jace nodded, trying to engrain that name in his brain, since it was the only information he would probably collect from this place. Except for the girl, Jace thought, another purpose for the redhead springing into his mind. She might know something. "I assume you know that your purchase will be cleaned and prepped for you to pick up. It will be about twenty minutes or so." Jace cringed at the thought of brutal men stripping the girl, bathing her, and redressing her, but he knew if he refused the process, it would be a red flag and possibly reveal his ulterior motive. _

_ "Perfect," Jace breathed, plastering a smile to his face. "Could I buy you a drink, Mr. Starkweather?" Hodge nodded, his gray hair flapping with the motion. "Two scotches on the rocks, please, Kaelie." The scantily-clad woman winked in his direction, but Jace quickly averted his gaze. "So, are you the ringleader of this production? It must be an awful lot of work to make things run this smoothly." He tried to be light about it, as if he were making polite conversation rather than conducting an investigation. If he used too forceful of a tone, he'd be sure to be thrown out, without the girl. It was a delicate business. _

_ "Ah, Mr. Wayland, I only wish I was the head of this fantastic corporation. I'm merely an arm of the true leader. I run this show, but Valentine heads up the Starlight Club." Kaelie arrived with the drinks, and Jace subtly slipped a clear tracking device among the cubes. He then handed that one to Hodge, who immediately began drinking. Valentine, Jace thought, laughing at the irony. Saint Valentine provided a means for secret love, discrete passion between nobles, covert marriages during the night. This Valentine sells secret love to millionaires, a twisted take on the old Saint. "Ah, Mr. Wayland—"_

_ "Oh, please," Jace interjected, "call me Michael." The name felt familiar on his tongue. One often he used as a cover. Over the years, Michael Wayland had become just as much of his identity as Jace Herondale._

_ Hodge nodded. "Michael," he amended. "Is this your first time at one of these events." Jace shook his head, truthfully he had attended several in this New York branch and two in the California branch._

_ "No, I once purchased a black-haired panther," he winked at Hodge, and Hodge smiled._

_ "An animal, eh?" Jace nodded, although the thought of her being molested by whoever bought her sickened him._

_ "Yes," Jace concurred, struggling to keep his voice level. "Her name was Isabelle." _

_ "Was?" Hodge inquired, continuously sipping at the scotch in his hand. Jace signaled Kaelie to come refill his glass._

_ "Ah, yes," Jace said, "I sold her back into the trade a few months back. Maybe you've seen her in the circuit." Lie, lie, lie, Jace's mind had been prompting him._

_ "I can't say that I have, although it sounds like it would have been a pleasure." Hodge smirked, and Jace used all his willpower to not slap that cocky grin right off his face. Jace merely nodded in agreement and tipped his glass back. Hodge set his now empty glass on the counter. Alec's damn prototype better work this time. Jace glanced at his watch just as Hodge's phone beeped. "Well, Michael, it seems that your purchase is ready for you." Jace nodded and set his glass down on a nearby table. "Now, how do you plan to pay for it?" The fact that Hodge called the girl "it" did not go unnoticed by Jace. This man clearly had no respect for women. He simply saw them as dollar signs. Jace took out a bag of money from his jacket and began counting out 100s. He always brought this kind of money to these events, hoping one day he'd run across Izzy. Although, he knew in his head that he'd never buy her. He'd kill everyone for her freedom. Slowly. Not today, he'd told himself, though the thought of whipping out the blade embedded in his shoe and slicing the throats of these God awful men had run through his mind several times. "Thank you," Hodge crooned when he held the appropriate amount of cash in his hands. He cradled it careful, looked at it lovingly. It was disgusting. "You may pick up your young spitfire in the back hall." Jace went to slide by the man, but heard Hodge say something behind him. "Good luck with that one."_

Alec interrupted Jace by rifling through his pockets for his phone. Once he retrieved it, he asked Jace to repeat the names for the records. "Hodge Starkweather was the first one," Jace said clearly for Alec's microphone.

"Could you spell that?"

"It's spelled the same way it sounds, Alec." Alec gave him a look. "A-L-E-C-I-S-A-D-U-M-B-F-U-C-K-T-H-A-T-C-A-N-T-S-P-E-L-L."

"That seems a little long for 'Starkweather,'" Alec mused, completely oblivious. God, he really couldn't spell. "And the other one that you said? Victor?"

"Valentine," Jace corrected, allowing his annoyance to seep into his voice. Scowling, Alec motioned for him to continue, and Jace rolled his eyes. "V-A-L-E-N-T-I-N-E."

"Thank you," Alec smiled, putting away his phone. "Now, how about we discuss the woman in your bed. You weren't seducing the waitresses, Jace, were you? Because they work for the circuit, and we can't have them snooping around in our business—"

"No," Jace interjected, combing his fingers through his hair, releasing a puff of breath before continuing in a rush. "Ikindasortaboughther."

"You WHAT?!" Alec's nostrils flared, and his eyes narrowed into slits. Jace sighed and stiff-armed Alec as he tried to charge him. He could easily take his brother out, who was the same height but had less muscle mass. Jace used his other hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"I bought a girl's freedom. She was only a girl, Alec. I couldn't let one of those grimy old men take her. She was just so…so innocent! And so helpless!" Jace dropped his arm and watched Alec fall face-first into the couch. "I couldn't let that happen to her."

"Ah, Jace Herondale has a heart. Nice to know." He wacked Alec upside the head and called him a few explicit names. "Well," Alec said, standing up and dusting off his holey sweatshirt, "maybe she could be an asset, as long as you don't fuck things up like you usually do with girls." Jace rolled his eyes as Alec began walking away, turning around momentarily to point a finger at Jace, "No sleeping with her, Jace. I mean it. You need to make her trust you. Not hate you." Jace saluted his older brother.

"Yes, ma'am. Although girls are usually begging for more after a night with me," he replied, waggling his eyebrows and chuckling when Alec disappeared out the door, his middle finger being the last thing Jace saw. "I love you, too, Alec!" Jace hollered after him. He crushed his Pepsi can between his palms, a little hurt that Alec thinks he always screws things up with women. He doesn't screw things _up_. He just _screws things_. There was a complete difference. Wasn't there? He began flicking through the channels again, catching snippets of infomercials and late-night programs before succumbing to his heavy lids.

A few hours later, Jace woke to the sun blinding his eyes . "Fuck," he cursed, shielding his eyes with his hand and reaching blindly for the shades. Once he finally shut them, he slid back onto the cushions, his eyes threatening to close again when a squeak resounded from the other side of the room. He inclined his head, seeing the form of the girl's body quivering beneath the duvet. Jace sighed, taking his time as he fluffed the couch cushions and put his old Pepsi can in the trash. When everything seemed to be in its place, he silently closed the space between him and his bed, reaching out and rapping his knuckles against the wall to signal his presence.

There was a squeal of pure terror from the bed, and Jace stepped forward hesitantly. The glass on the bedside table was empty. The drugs had obviously worn off, and her entire body was convulsing in fear. Her head appeared for a moment to assess this situation, and Jace saw few tears slip down her cheeks. He stopped where he was, leaning coolly against the wall and hoping that if he kept his distance, she may calm down. He stood there for what seemed like ages until her whimpering subsided into slow, measured breaths. Her green eyes popped up again and landed on his face. "Hi," he greeted with a crooked grin, finally breaking the silence. This caused her to scream and dive back under the covers, the black duvet quivering with her body. "I must be losing my touch," he mused to himself and moved to stand by the bed. He rested a hand on what he believed to be the girl's back, but she moved away from his touch. "Alright. My name is Jace, and your name is…?" No reply. Great. He tried again. "Are you hungry? Could I make you something? Eggs? Waffles?" The girl's shaking slowly seized as her green eyes returned from their hiding place.

"Waffles?" she asked more than answered. Jace nodded, ignoring his sudden itch to reach out and brush the tears from her cheeks.

"I'll go make you some waffles," he said in as soothing of a voice as he could and left. He could feel the girl's curious gaze on his back as he pulled some waffles from the freezer and popped them into the toaster. When they shot out, he drenched them in syrup and poured her a glass of chocolate milk. Forgoing his usual rules of eating only in the kitchen, he carried the breakfast to her bedroom, setting it in front of her while keeping his distance. She looked at the food as if she hadn't eaten in ages, but gingerly picked up the fork and began eating slowly. She moaned a little when the first bite hit her tongue, and a blush touched her cheeks. Jace smiled. "Will you tell me your name now?" The smile that the food had brought to her face fell.

"It's Starlight," she replied flatly, immediately shoving more food into her mouth. Jace sighed.

"No, no, no. Your _real_ name." The girl's lip quivered, and Jace hesitantly reached out and touched her shoulder. "You don't have to be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you." Her chin lifted up, and her fear-filled eyes met his for the first time. Jace's breath was taken away. They were green as priceless emeralds, as endless as the galaxy, full of an innocence that Jace couldn't help but want to protect.

"You…you didn't buy me…for…for…" she couldn't get the words out, but Jace knew what she was getting at.

"No. " Jace saw her shoulders visibly relax and some relief leak into her features. "Trust me, I get _plenty_ of that elsewhere." The girl's eyes flashed crossly at his joke, but Jace couldn't help it. He was naturally cocky. She finished her waffles and was chugging the chocolate milk like her life depended on it. Jace settled himself on the edge of the bed, still maintaining some space until he gained her trust. "How old are you?" he asked abruptly. The redhead, unfazed, put the glass and the plate on the bedside table, still looking so small in Jace's king-sized bed.

"I'm eighteen," she stated boldly, before returning her gaze to the floor.

"You don't look eighteen."

The girl snorted in a very unladylike way, causing Jace to laugh. "I really am," she insisted. "I was born on September 24th 2014." Jace shook his head, wondering how this petite thing could be an adult.

"I'm twenty," Jace answered her unasked question. She nodded, her lips forming a thin line while her eyes darted toward her empty food plate, full of longing and hunger. Jace laughed again. "Would you like some more food? Maybe some protein?" The vigorous nod he received was enough to propel him quickly from his perch on the bed and toward the kitchen.

"It's Clary, by the way" she whispered quietly, looking at her fingers clasped in her lap.

"As in Clary Sage?" Jace prompted, turning around slowly with a small, victorious smile on his face. She shook her head vigorously, her red curls bouncing with the motion.

"As in Clarissa," she corrected in a small voice. Jace nodded and took another step toward the kitchen before turning around once more.

"Do you have a last name, _Clarissa_?" A single tear slipped from her eye as she finally shook her head no.

"Not anymore."

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_So...any comments? Questions? Review and maybe the bunny will bring you a chocolate-covered Jace. *heavy breathing* Yeah, I know. I want that, too._


	3. Chapter 3

_Alright! Another chapter! Kind of a filler, a little peak into more of Jace's feelings! Enjoy! :)_

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The October air was cool, bringing color to Jace's cheeks as he walked through the sunshine. Leaves drifted lazily to the ground, offering a colorful toy for children to play with. He eyed them through his designer sunglasses as they squealed in pleasure, jumping giddily into the filthy pile. He spit on the ground. Maybe one of them would step in it. He tossed his hair out of his vision as he stomped down the sidewalk. He'd never had an actual childhood, his entire adolescence spent preparing him for this, for success at a young age, for riches. His father was a brutal man, one who would lash out if not please. Jace rarely pleased him. He had enough scars to attest to that. He grit his teeth and ducked into the local coffee shop, rifling through the pockets of his leather jacket for money. The girl behind the counter twirled her blond ponytail and looking at him with wide, blue eyes. He chuckled once, opening his leather wallet and pulling out some cash. "One coffee, black, and one mocha latte, extra chocolate." The barista grinned at him flirtatiously as she asked for his name, wielding a sharpie in her left hand. Huh, left-handed. "Jace," he replied, giving her a signature smirk. He knew she'd drop her panties and let him take her right on the counter. Her teeth sunk in her lip and her hooded eyes were just confirmation. She sighed dreamily and scribbled something a little longer than Jace, blushing vigorously as she turned away to pour his drink. "Can I get two glazed doughnuts, too, please?" She nodded excitedly, opening the case and nearly dropping the pastries in her haste. She giggled out an apology, reaching for a box and snatching the steaming drinks as she led him to the cash register to pay. He gave her a rather generous tip, winked, and took his items to go, shaking his head as he noticed the woman's phone number scrawled elegantly next to his name.

He balanced the breakfast all the way to his apartment, dodging early-morning joggers and enthusiastic children on his way. Clary had been at his house for about a week now, but she still wasn't in any shape to aid the investigation. The first morning, she'd had trouble keeping the food down, having been fed nothing but drugs and protein for the six months in captivity. _Six months_. Jace couldn't imagine what had happened in that long of time, but by the fright in Clary's green eyes, he knew it couldn't have been pretty. He felt so much empathy for the girl that he even held her hair back as she vomited into his extremely expensive, foreign toilet. Jace Herondale was not usually that kind of man. He juggled the food into the elevator and rode up to the top. Rapping his knuckles against the door to warn the skittish Clary, he shoved through, trying not to drop the food when he nearly pushed Clary over. "Oh, I'm sorry," she apologized quickly, looking down at her toes. "I was just trying to see who it was." Jace merely laughed and put the purchases down before hot coffee was splattered across the loft.

"Nevermind that. I brought you a traditional, New York breakfast." He made a ta-da motion with his hands at the coffees on the counter. Clary warily eyed the counter. She still looked slightly green, her red hair limp and dirty from being sick. "Oh, I almost forgot," Jace nearly shouted, reaching over onto a barstool for the Bath and Body Works bags he'd had delivered to his house. "I got you some shampoo and girlie shit." He saw Clary crack a smile as he extended the bag to her. "And doughnuts," he added, flipping open the box cover. Her face nearly broke with the size of the grin on her face.

"Fahnk ooh," she moaned over a large bite of doughnut, washing it down with the steaming mocha. She swallowed and licked each fingertip. Jace didn't think it was meant to be sensual, but it definitely was. He cleared his throat and turned around to grab his own breakfast. "You have no idea how long it's been since I've had doughnuts." Jace nodded, not knowing exactly what to say. It was the first time she'd broached to topic of her captivity besides to tell him how long she'd been there. He hadn't wanted to push her for information, to stress her out with the urgency of the situation, but he was losing time. Alec had shared his distaste for Clary's silence last night, but Jace just couldn't bring himself to force the words from her mouth.

"Hey, how about we go for a walk through Central Park today?" It was the first time he'd offered to do something with her, since she'd spent most of her time in bed recovering. She nodded enthusiastically but continued to devour her doughnut. If she was going to open up to him, she needed to trust him. Jace didn't know anything about girls except that they loved his Adonis-like body and shiny things. So far, Clary had shown no inclination of attraction to him, and by the way she avoided the shimmery tops girls had left behind at his apartment, she didn't seem to like shiny things either. Damn, this was going to be hard. He moved to the sink, leaning his elbows back on the countertop. Clary faced away from him, eyes skimming over the New York skyline as the sun sprayed brilliant hues of pink and orange across the sky. Her silhouette was outlined in a brilliant golden glow, and Jace allowed his eyes to wander. She wore one of his old Jets shirts, hanging down well past her knees. Her body was petite, with a slim waist and shoulders. Her hair was damp, twisted high into a knot on the top of her head, and her slender hips swayed a little as she moved to drink her mocha. She intrigued him, but he wasn't attracted to her. He couldn't be. She wasn't easy. She wasn't busty and blonde and shoving her assets into his face. She was cute and innocent, and he felt the overwhelming need to protect her from the darkness in the world.

"Okay, let's go." He was jolted out of his reverie with a jump, his coffee sloshing over and onto the floor. Jace shook away his confusion as he snatched a rag and mopped up the mess.

"Is that what you're wearing?" he asked as he stood up, tossing the messy rag into the sink and swigging the remainder of his coffee. Clary looked down at herself, blushing heavily. The red was violent against her pale, freckled cheeks, and Jace decided he liked it. He would make her blush whenever possible.

"Well," she said quietly, "I don't exactly have very many choices." Jace rolled his eyes, crossing the loft to his dresser and rummaging through a few of the drawers. Emerging a few moments later, he triumphantly handed Clary several pairs of women's jeans and three sweaters. Sighing, she slipped into the bathroom for a couple of minutes, leaving Jace with his thoughts again. Jace's mind was a dangerous place. His entire being was built on hate, determination, and lust. There wasn't much in him to love. He knew his father had ripped those feelings from him long ago. The cruelty of his father made anger flair inside him, tearing through his stomach and causing his hands to curl into fists. "These are too big." Jace's head whipped into the direction of the shy voice, and he barely had time to reign in the hatred he felt for his father. Jace disguised it by ducking his head and heading to his closet. He rifled through various pieces of clothing before pulling out a soft, gray sweater dress. He handed it to Clary and sat down in front of the television, hoping to calm down and keep his thoughts from wondering. A few moments later, Clary came out. "It fits." That was quite the understatement. Jace had to consciously keep his jaw from opening. Clary's body had small but definite curves in all the right places, not too much in one location. The gray in the dress brought out the brightness of her eyes and hair and made her pale skin creamy instead of pasty.

Before he could stop himself, he gently reached up and massaged Clary's hair out of its knot. "Perfect," he murmured quietly, hoping Clary didn't hear. As the brilliant blush returned to her cheeks, it was quite obvious she had. He stepped away quickly, clearing his throat and heading for the door. "Ready?" He didn't wait for a reply as he grabbed his keys and phone and walked out the door. Clary, of course, followed silently. The quiet continued even when they found themselves among couples on romantic strolls and mothers trying to sooth fussy babies to sleep. After awhile, they ducked behind a tree trunk to shelter them from the wind. "Clary," Jace said, finally breaking the silence. She looked at him with wide, fearful eyes, and Jace realized he'd scared her by doing that. He'd told her he hadn't brought her here from sex, yet he'd basically come onto her. He wanted to kick his own ass from being such an idiot. "I just wanted to ask if there was anyone you wanted to call. Any family?"

"No," she said crossly, lines forming between her eyebrows. Jace wanted to kick himself again.

"Alright," he said nodding. He could understand not wanting to talk to family. The only people he'd ever considered family had been Alec and Isabelle. "Any friends?" Clary bit her lip as a loose red curl blew into her face. Jace had to forcibly refrain from brushing it behind her ear. "You can use my cell phone right now." He rifled through his pockets, needing the distraction to busy his hands. _I need to get laid_, was the excuse his mind conjured up. He presented her with the sleek black phone, and she took it between her slim fingers. "I'll just give you some privacy," he muttered as she dialed and held the receiver to her ear. He could feel her eyes following him, so he found a bench and sat down, digging in the corners of his pockets for crumbs to toss the birds. He slipped his sunglasses over his eyes and people-watched. He saw a couple getting handsy on the bench across from him and a father dancing with his daughter on his toes. He watched an elderly lady whack a pick-pocket with her bag and a squirrel collect fallen nuts. But he mostly watched Clary as her smile cracked and tears flooded from her eyes. He watched her mouth move as she shared words with someone she trusted. He felt a pang of jealousy as he wished it were him on the other end, the one receiving the news that his best friend was alive, that she was well. He wanted to be the one she entrusted with her worst moments, the one to comfort her—_damn_, he cut himself off, _I really need to get laid_. He pretended to not be paying attention as Clary hung up and leaned her head back against the tree, wiping her eyes on the backs of her hands. She fully composed herself before walking back to Jace and handing him the phone.

"Thank you," she said, sniffling slightly, though he probably wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't known she'd been crying.

"You're welcome," Jace said stiffly, sliding the device back into his jeans and walking in the direction of the loft.

"He wants to meet up with me," she said quietly, eyes trained on the ground in front of her. Jace steeled himself as his heart sank. Jace Herondale did not get jealous. He did not get sad or lonely.

"Clary, you don't need my permission to do things." She nodded, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her dress. "Go," he said to her when she was still on his heels. She bit her lip and nodded again, turning away. Jace walked a few more steps before leaning against a tree, watching her until she ducked safely into a nearby café. God, he really needed to fix this feelings shit. He scrubbed his hands down his face, punching in the barista's number he'd saved from the cup. He'd fight this foreign feeling with everything he had. He needed a quick release, one he knew the barista would offer. He was right. "Hey, it's me, Jace," was all he had to say before winding up naked in her bed. He'd been in control the whole time, making her scream and moan his name. Her fingernails dug into his back, her lips sought out to mark him, but he resisted. It all felt so wrong. Before him lay a wild blond. She was an animal in bed, a perfect specimen of a woman who had curves and canyons in all the right places. But it wasn't right. All he could think about was Clary. He wanted _her_ voice to whisper his name. He wanted her skin beneath his fingertips. He wanted to be inside her and all around her and enveloped within her. He just wanted _her_. "Fuck," he said, not because the sex was good, but because it wasn't anymore. And he knew it never would be again, unless it was with her. Fuck.

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_...Review?_

_All My Love_

_~BallinBlonde21_


	4. Chapter 4

_It is honestly killing me that Jace and Clary aren't together in any of my stories yet and that I can't write cute fluff *cries* but soon...very soon *smiles and taps fingers together creepily* ANYWHOOOO Enjoy!_

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Sweat dripped from Jace's forehead as his taped fist slammed into the punching bag. His breath came in heavy pants as he imagined Isabelle's captors' noses crunching beneath each blow. His knuckles were bloody, his hair sticking to his neck with sweat, but he didn't care. His mind wandered slightly, a slew of curse words sliding from his tongue before he refocused on the task at hand. Clary had been spending a lot of time with Simon, making it terribly difficult for him to skillfully pry information from her. In fact, he hadn't really seen her since the morning after Simon had asked her to meet him. His anger flared as he rammed his fist into the bag, watching in satisfaction as it swung away. He flicked a droplet of sweat from the bridge of his nose, watching it refract the morning sunlight as it plummeted to the mat-covered floor.

He'd come home that night, stumbling from the alcohol he'd greedily gulped after his attempt to drain his feelings into Kaelie had failed. He'd stripped his clothes and fallen drunkenly into bed, not bothering to even turn off the light. It was funny, really, how neither sex nor alcohol could rid his mind of her soulful green eyes and tentative smile, how the shots of watermelon pucker the brunette beside him was buying reminded him of her wild curls, how the streaky spray tans that usually meant easy bait made him yearn for the simplicity of Clary's pale and freckled skin. "Fuck," he spat, as his fist smashed into the bag. Dammit, even fighting couldn't distract him from the angelic picture in his head. "Focus, Jace," he said aloud, continuing with rhythmic jabs. He hadn't trained since she'd shown up, and it was really showing.

But who was he kidding. Lack of training wasn't the reason for his distraction. It wasn't that he'd barely thrown a punch or wielded a knife that was messing with his head. With a loud grown of aggravation, he unwrapped his bloodied knuckles, ignoring the sting as the tape ripped off some more skin. "Hey, stranger," a voice said from the doorway, startling Jace.

"God, Alec, that sounded like one of those western chick pickup lines." Alec blushed a deep shade of scarlet, but quickly straightened his features. He closed the distance between the two of them and threw a punch straight into Jace's side, catching him off guard and sending him stumbling back. "Damn, what was that for?" Jace said, raising his fists at his best friends. He never turned down a good fight, even if Alec was on the receiving end of his punches. It had happened before. Multiple times. Prepared this time, Jace easily dodged one of Alec's punches, swiping out with his foot and knocking Alec's legs from beneath him. Once his friend was on the floor, Jace held him down, fist raised, not that he was actually going to throw a punch.

Alec knew this and didn't fight against Jace's grip. "Jace. We are losing time. We need that girl to speak." Jace released Alec and got to his feet, returning to his position behind the bag and punching at it. "Jace," Alec growled, anger radiating from his body in waves of heat. "This is important."

Jace threw a few more uppercuts into the defenseless bag before stopping it from swinging and turning to his brother. "Fine. I'll see what I can get out of her this morning." With that, he pushed past Alec and out of the gym, ignoring Alec's threats as he punched the button for his floor and let himself into his apartment.

Clary was seated on the couch with a bag of potato chips, flipping through the channels like television was the best thing in the world. Jace chuckled lightly, watching Clary start and toss up the bag of chips in her fear, scattering them all over the floor. "Omigosh, you scared me." Jace shook his head, smiling as he helped her pick up the chips.

"Five second rule," Jace called as he shoved a handful into his mouth, crunching down loudly on the salty goodness. He watched Clary pull some chips from the bag and put them into her mouth.

"Gosh, Jace. You have so much food around here! It's incredible." At Jace's odd look, she added, ""I mean, they didn't feed us much of anything. Just enough to keep us alive. And the drugs. So many drugs." She pulled her lip between her teeth. It was not in a flirty way like most girls did. It seemed more like a nervous habit. Her arms wrapped around her torso as if her body had suddenly gone cold, and she needed warmth to survive. "I can't talk about it. Not now." Clary shook her head, and Jace nodded in understanding.

"What should we watch?" he asked to change the subject, flipping through the channels and settling on the Disney Channel. Clary laughed quietly, but said nothing.

"So," Jace said over the voices of _Austin and Aly_, "how was your friend…um…?  
"Simon?" Clary offered, and Jace nodded. "He was good. He asked a lot of questions that I wasn't ready to give the answers to." She said simply, leaving it at that. Jace nodded solemnly, returning his gaze to the television show before a sniffle tore his gaze back to Clary's tear-filled eyes. "You should have seen the way they looked at me, Jace!" She cried, clutching a pillow. "With so much pity and sadness, like I was broken. But there was that underlying tone of disgust, the one that shows they are judging me because of what was done to me!" She brushed the tears off her face. "The kind of look that makes me feel as if I can never get through this, move on and become something." Jace gripped her shoulders lightly.

"You are not broken, Clary. You are not defined by the wrongs done to you. You define yourself, Clary. You can heal, move forward, but the only way you can do that is by talking about it." Her gaze rose to meet his sincere, golden irises. "You can trust me, Clary." She sighed heavily, taking his hands from her shoulders but keeping hold on one of them as she settled into the sofa. Jace wondered if she felt the electric sparks between their locked fingers.

"The first week was the worst," she whispered, eyes lost somewhere in the past, her body visibly cringing at the memories. "I kept resisting, trying to break free from my room, so they beat me bloody, rendering me nearly unconscious before pumping me with drugs. Drugs that caused paralysis, leaving them to do with me what they wished while I was awake and defenseless." Jace itched to brush away the shimmering tear sliding down her freckled cheek. "It was so _hard_. I just…I kept wondering, 'Why me?' What did I ever do to deserve that?" She shook her head, red curls spilling everywhere. Jace wanted to shush her, to soothe her and tell her everything would be alright. But he couldn't, not yet. This was the first she'd ever spoken of her time there, and he wanted to know if she knew about Isabelle. "Then, they took me out of my room after about two weeks although I couldn't really keep track of time. They moved me down the hall and into a room with another girl. We were lucid, though the drugs prevented us from moving without help." Her fingers drummed against the granite, the faint tick-tick of her fingernails unheard over the roaring in Jace's ears. Isabelle was only taken two months ago. Clary was there for six. _Not Isabelle,_ he deduced, _but we're getting somewhere_. "We could talk for short bouts at a time, when the drugs were wearing off and before they came in to inject more. She was the…the head's plaything. He would summon her several times a week, and each time she had to be carried back, fresh bruises marring her perfect, tan skin. She had so many _scars_." She squeezed her eyes shut, and for a moment, Jace was worried she was going to stop. "I need to lie down," she said at last, stumbling toward Jace's perfectly made bed, Jace hot on her heels.

"Clary," he whispered, taking her shaking palms, his scarred hands engulfing her slim ones. "Clary, please. It's okay. You can talk to me." Jace couldn't interrogate her now, not like this. He had to tell her about Isabelle, see if she knew anything, but not right now. Her lip was quivering, tears brimming over. He knew this would be a hard part of her past to relive. He should know. He'd been facing his for the past twenty years. He threw an arm over her shoulders, hoping she would keep talking on her own accord, hoping that Isabelle would come up, that after two months, he might be able to find her.

Clary sniffled quietly into his jacket. "It doesn't matter anymore. She's dead. Valentine killed her." Jace's body went rigid, a shiver ripping down his spine. There was that name again, _Valentine_, the sick bastard who ran this sadistic circus. He finally breathed in again, stroking Clary's red curls slowly.

"Did you know this Valentine?" Clary nodded into Jace's shirt, a small sob escaping her lips as she burrowed deeper into his side. "Was he the leader?" Another nod. "Was he the one who took you?" A small shake of the head. _No_. "Was he the one to…to…_use_ you," he asked, finally settling on those words. Another small movement followed by a sob. _No_. "What was he then?" Clary sat up abruptly, suddenly silent with a wide, haunted gaze fixated on Jace's face.

"He sold me into this life," she spat, wrapping her arms around her torso as if to hold herself together. "He was my father."

"Fuck," was only Jace's reply.

X.O.X.O.X

"Alec, I'm telling you, she's just opening up. We can't go storming into there and demand her to tell us about Izzy. The wounds are too raw. It would screw everything up." Jace had just finished his recap of everything Clary had told him. Alec was fuming pacing around his apartment in holey jeans and a ratty black tee, monitors linked to tracking devices strewn about the room, wires laying everywhere, waiting for innocent victims to trip. He had pictures of "Isabelle" sightings pinned to a board along with several reports from people who have claimed to have seen her.

"Dammit, Jace! Isabelle is more important than this…this…_whore's_ feelings!" Alec thrust a hand into his messy black hair, cursing loudly as he stomped past Jace once more. He thought of Clary, who had been tucked tightly into his bed and slumbering with tear stains on her face, stirring slightly when he'd leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"First of all, _Alec_," he snarled, stopping Alec with a finger digging into his chest, "she is _not_ a whore." Alec laughed incredulously.

"Really, Jace? Because Daddy sold his sweet, angelic daughter into his own personal slave trade." Jace growled at Alec, eyes flashing with anger.

"You forget, brother, that Isabelle is currently in the holds of that same damn trade. You wouldn't call her a whore, would you?" The pain of Alec's punch blossoming on his cheek did nothing to dilute the satisfaction of his brother's speechlessness. "As I was saying, Clary is not a whore, and Isabelle is important, Alec, but forcing information out of Clary is just going to cause her to retreat, withdraw the little trust she's instilled in me." Alec, who was rubbing his knuckles, glowered.

"Time is running out, Jace. There are _priorities_, and this girl? She's not one of them. Isabelle's everything, Jace. Clary's nothing." Jace shook his head and left, shocked more by the thought in his head than Alec's outburst. _Clary was something_, he'd thought automatically. _She was something to him_.

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_Review?_

_All My Love_

_~BallinBlonde21_


	5. Chapter 5

_New Chapter! Whooo! Okay, so I typed this up really quickly in between getting weird calls from a restricted number (anyone else because quite frankly I'm a little afraid), but please excuse any errors. Anyways...I hope you enjoy! :)_

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Clary kicked a pebble from her path as she strode down the sidewalk, hands thrust deeply into the pockets of the coat Jace had borrowed her. The leather smelled like him: warmth and soap and sunshine. Safety, too, the coat smelled like safety. She sighed, ducking into a coffee shop and ordering a mug of black brew, ignoring the curious look of the waitress when she denied cream and sugar. Her mind was lost in the events of the past week.

_Clary watched Simon from outside the café before going in. Watching him talk casually to the waitress, wave at people as they passed by, sip at his coffee without feeling the need to look over his shoulder. His hair was a little longer, falling over his forehead and in front of his glasses, which still stubbornly slipped down his nose as he played his beloved Nintendo DS. She watched him celebrate a completed level in the booth by himself, so carefree, so happy, so unbroken. What would it be like when he saw her for what she was? A dirty, violated, troubled, little girl, so full of holes and cracks that the sunlight just streamed through her body, rendering her nearly invisible. She wished she was invisible, that way she wouldn't have to constantly fear that someone was following her, watching her from a distance, biding their time to return her to that life. It wasn't until Simon noticed her and waved that she felt courageous enough to step into the building._

_ "Clary!" Simon said, meeting her at the door, with a big warm embrace, one that she would have usually fallen into, but now she squirmed away, uncomfortable with a man's touch. He masked the hurt on his face after a moment and ushered her to the table, where a steaming mug of black coffee rested on the table. Just the way she liked it. She wrapped her white fingers around the warm mug, watching Simon's eyes light up as she took a sip. He looked at her as if she were unreal, as if her sitting before him was a fluke, as if she were a miracle. She smiled shyly at him, making herself feel disgusted for being shy with him. This was Simon for Pete's sake. She'd grown up with him, practically spent every waking moment of her life with him before being sold._

_ The pair spent the afternoon chatting, Simon sharing stories of his life without brushing on the topic of sex-trafficking. It was nice, to laugh and be interested in something for once. To feel normal. To have the people walking in and out of the café ignore her as if she blended into the background. She'd spent many nights having men appraise her, hoot and catcall, give her attention that she did not crave. They were walking back to Simon's small loft when his big brown eyes turned to her. "Do you have a place to stay?" Clary chewed her lip. Jace's penthouse was fantastic, modern, expensive, but she really didn't want to overstep her welcome._

_ "Maybe I could crash here for a few nights?" she asked, noticing the concern in Simon's face shift to pure excitement._

_ "Absolutely! It will be just like old times." And it was. They played video games, with Simon picking up Clary's slack since she truly sucked. They watched old Disney movies and cheesy Westerns until late in the night. Simon fed her ramen noodles and mac'n'cheese, and it was normal, perfect in its simplicity. _

_ That lasted for about a week, until one night, as they were watching Lilo and Stitch, she rested her head on Simon's chest, eyelids drooping with exhaustion as she tried to keep them open. "Ohana means family," Simon quoted quietly, and Clary lifted her head up and smiled sleepily at him. And then he kissed her. Awkwardly. On the lips. Clary gasped and pulled away, every nerve in her body tingling in alarm, her mind threatening to shut down from panic. "Clary?" Simon asked as she backed up against the door jam, turning the handle and slipping into the hall. "Clary! I love you!" he cried as she ran out into the street. Blood was roaring in her ears, heart hammering in her chest, fear ripping through her being. _

_ She sprinted all the way to Jace's complex, the sidewalks nearly vacant except for the random drunk stumbling home. She let herself into his penthouse, throwing herself down onto the bed and bawling._

"Thank you," she murmured as the barista handed her a steaming cup of coffee. This stuff was like liquid gold to her, since she hadn't been given any in captivity. She shoved a few bills in the tip jar and exited the building, back into the chilly New York wind. Simon really had to screw everything up. Why couldn't he see they were just friends? That she didn't think of him that way? That male touch made her cringe in fear. _Jace's doesn't_, her brain reminded her stubbornly. She mentally commanded that little voice to shut up. She'd been squashing her mushy feelings for Jace since he'd first brought her coffee, telling herself she wasn't ready to be close to a man yet. But Jace, he was different. He wasn't out to use her, to have his way with her and then dump her. He seemed to want to help her, to protect her. She blushed at that thought.

She really didn't know that much about him. She didn't know his occupation, his parents, his history, but she completely trusted him to take care of her. It was strange for her to feel so much trust to someone she barely knew, especially after all she had been through. But then again, Jace did rescue her. He didn't buy her for sex or company, her bought her own life for her. She really had no reason not to trust him. She apologized as she brushed into a person's shoulder, who just continued walking, completely oblivious to the fact that Clary had been there. Clary tossed a weary glance over her shoulder, her breathing accelerating as the big, bulky man looked back at the same time, his dark eyes connecting with hers. Clary walked faster, terrified that he was following her, that he was going to drag her into the alley and leave her for the dead. Another look over her shoulder verified that the man had continued on his way, disappearing around the corner.

"This is getting out of hand," Clary mumbled to herself. Her mind was so flooded with fear and hazy, drugged memories that she felt she was going to burst. She had intended to share some of her burden with Simon, who always seemed willing to take the weight off Clary's shoulders and carry it on his own, but his confession of love scared her away, possibly for good. She reached Jace's apartment complex and dragged her heavy body into the elevator, waiting as the doors closed at an agonizingly slow pace and as the cart rose even slower. Finally, when the door dinged her arrival, she was completely lost in her own mind, barely aware of her legs carrying her through the door of Jace's apartment and to the kitchen.

"Clary?" an alarmed Jace asked, peering up from behind a laptop, the screen making his face glow in a white light. "Clary!" He reached out and caught her as she nearly collapsed, putting her coffee cup on the counter and helping her to the sofa.

"So much pain, Jace," she moaned, her head lolling back against the sofa.

"Where, Clary? You're feet?" She shook her head. "You're stomach?" Another negative. "Where?"

"My past, Jace. So much pain in my past." Jace was shocked to silence, standing before her with his palms up, fingers spread, pleading for her to tell him what to do. "I can't keep it all in. I am going to burst." Jace patted behind him to make sure the coffee table was there before seating himself atop it. Clary shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "Jace, I can't put all this on you. You don't deserve it. You don't even know me." Jace took her hands in his, soft pale skin engulfed in tanned, calloused palms.

"But I want to," he whispered, his thumbs massaging circles in the backs of her hands. His touch didn't make her fearful. It didn't make her cringe in on herself. It didn't make her want to scream. It was electric, igniting a fire in her that could only be described as passion, making her not want to plead for him to stop, but instead beg for more. 'Show me who you are, Clary. I'd be honored to help you carry your burdens." Clary looked into his molten irises, seeing nothing but sincerity in his expression.

"God, I'm so broken, Jace. I don't know why you rescued me. I'm just a shell of who I once was. I have no soul—"

"Because you're a ginger?" Jace interrupted, unable to help himself. Clary smacked his arm, but despite the situation, a small smile played at her lips.

"No, really, Jace. There's nothing left to me. I'm shattered, and the pieces of me have drifted too far to collect. There's no hope."

"There's always hope, Clary. We make our own hope." Clary smiled, her eyes getting distant for a moment. She laughed softly, blinking back fresh tears forming in her emerald eyes. "Where did you go on me, Clary?"

"A girl that stayed with me most of the time used to say that. She'd be laying on the bed, bloody lip, swollen eyes, unable to move an inch, but she'd always managed to tell me that I can never lose hope because we make our own hope." She shook her head, wiping a tearstain from her cheek.

"Do you remember what this girl was like?" Jace asked, probing for more information though he knew he shouldn't be. He figured since Clary was smiling, it was a nicer subject than the other things that had been weighing her down.

Clary nodded quickly, her red ringlets bouncing up and down with the motion. "They used fewer drugs on me then, since I'd already been in there for months. I was really weak because of the lack of food and large amount of time spent lying in the bed. I can remember the day they brought her in. She was kicking and screaming and biting at her captors, cursing them out like a sailor. Apparently the first bout of sedatives didn't work on her so they had to inject her with stronger stuff just to get her to lie down." She laughed breathily, chewing her lip before continuing.

"I was surprised that she stayed with me for a whole two months. She was just so gorgeous, so I assumed that she was probably Valentine's new girl." Clary shook her head. "She was tall, lean, with tanned skin and long black hair. Her eyes were almost the same color as her hair, and her lips were almost red despite wearing no makeup. She was strong-willed and had the kindest heart. She'd offer me half her dinners, seeing as you could see my ribs with how little I'd been fed. I kept turning her down, but she insisted, saying that her brothers would have her out in less than six months, that I needed my strength if I was coming with her. The last time I saw her was…was the night I was sold to you."

Jace had stopped breathing, his heart was hammering in his chest, his blood thundering loudly in her ears. "Clary, Clary, what was this girl's name?"

"Izzy," Clary said immediately. "She called herself, Izzy."

"And you think she'd still be with those men?"

"Well I assume so. She wasn't sold at the last auction I know because she wasn't loaded into the truck."

"Where is the house you were staying at?"

"Um, I don't know. It was old and red and had very little traffic noise by it," she replied, having rehearsed what she would say if she ever had to identify the hell hole she'd lived in for six months. "About twenty minutes away from where I was sold." Jace leaned in and kissed Clary on the forehead, making her jump in surprise. It wasn't a bad surprise, and she found herself disappointed when he'd backed away. "Jace?" Clary asked, as he grabbed his cell phone, "What's going on?"

"Alec," Jace was saying into his phone, a hopeful look spreading across his face. "Call me back as soon as you get this." He ended the call.

"Jace? Jace, what's happening?" Jace took Clary's hands in his again and kissed all her knuckles, his grin stretching from ear-to-ear.

"That Izzy is my sister, and you may have just helped us find her."

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_Okay, so...um...review? I'll give you Clace fluff very sooon, very soon. This is probably the longest I've gone without Jace and Clary makin' out. Personal Record! Ummm...anyway...I kinda have to go catch my silly fairy because she flew out of the jar and is attempting to catch the stars...sooooo review?_


	6. Chapter 6

_This one kinda jumps all over between Clary and Jace POV...and a lot happens. So...enjoy_

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When Alec called back twenty minutes later, Jace told him everything Clary had said, every story, every word, not leaving out a single detail. Clary, though happy to help Isabelle, was mortified. Had Jace shared everything she'd ever said with his brother? Every moment of weakness when she allowed a little bit of her past to shine through? God, she was so _blind_. Of course Jace wouldn't spend so much money on her, be so kind to her, unless she had a _purpose_. She was just a purchase to him. A monetary investment in a tool to aide in the finding of his sister. She wasn't a person. She wasn't a body and soul. To him, she was an object that would soon be discarded when Izzy was found. She shrunk into the back of the sofa, gooseflesh rising on her skin.

So naïve. So stupid. She'd just decided that morning that Jace was trustworthy! That he actually wanted to help her! It wasn't that she wasn't happy they were going to find Isabelle. Izzy never deserved that life, the one of torture and pain. She was so bubbly, so optimistic. No, Clary was overjoyed that they were searching for Isabelle. She just wished Jace would have told her what she was signing up for, so she wouldn't have fooled herself into thinking she actually meant something to him.

"I'm going to swing by Alec's quick," Jace said, peering at her from the hallway. Clary nodded, not trusting her voice to conceal the overwhelming emotion of betrayal flooding through her. She heard the door click shut and felt the silence settle heavily around her. It was agonizing, this feeling of loneliness, of worthlessness. She was only useful to Jace as long as she had information to give, but she had no more. Unless Jace was interested in telling Alec how she was brutally raped multiple times a day, or how her body reacted badly one set of drugs and nearly killed her, or how she'd tried to hang herself with her bed sheets when she'd had enough. Maybe he'd be interested in sharing _that_ information.

"Fuck you, Jace Herondale," she growled into the empty void around her, hauling herself from the sofa and shoving through the door. She no longer needed to be here. She wasn't needed anywhere. She pushed out the glass door of the main lobby and into the sunshine. Jace didn't want her. Simon wanted her too much. She had nowhere to go, nowhere to be. She melted into the New York pedestrian traffic, her feet pattering within the rhythmic stampede of the others. Tourists, businessmen, families, city workers—all walks of life rushed around her, their stories and names unknown, nobody caring about where the other was from, what had happened to them. They had no intention of using them, of loving them, of even talking to them. And it was great, the sense of being lost in a crowd of people, to fit in for once, to have someone not care whether you came from the whore house or the top tier of the most prestigious business tower. Clary twisted and turned around the streets of Manhattan, before finding herself winding along the trails of Central Park, watching children catch butterflies and couples make kissy faces at each other. She looked away as one pair began fondling each other much too inappropriately for public.

"Miss!" she heard someone holler, but before she could turn to see who it was, a hand clamped down over her mouth, and she was being dragged into the back of a van. Her kicking and thrashing were no match for the muscular set of arms restraining her, and she let out a wail of pain when her head collided with the metal van floor. The door slid shut behind her, cutting out any view of New York. Two faces loomed before her, startling in their similarities. Both had hair as white as snow, contrasting greatly with their eyes as black as night.

"Father," she growled, dusting off her clothes as she moved to a sitting position. The man grinned, a feral twist of his lips pulling back from his teeth, as his look-alike moved to zip tie her wrists and ankles. "Jonathon." The was a scenario she was used to, watching her own family tie her up and take her to her worst nightmare. Surely her mother was driving the van.

"Clarissa, that is no way to greet your family." Clary spit at him, and his eyes flashed as he wiped the liquid from his face.

"That better?" She more heard than felt the slap across her cheek.

"Gag her, Jonathon." She dared the boy with her eyes as he searched the dirty van floor for a piece of cloth. "Now, my child," he crooned as the rag was tied tightly around the back of her head. "You may be wondering what I am doing, since you were already purchased and such, but I decided, why couldn't I make more money off of you? There has been a great demand for redheads ever since they saw you at the auction, and it is much easier to give the people the exact one they want than to go out and search for something similar." Clary didn't try to speak, knowing it was useless with the gag in her mouth, but she really wanted to scream. She'd just escaped this very life, was just about ready to move on and start again. Now she was back to square one. "Cat's got your tongue?" Valentine chirped, a satisfied smirk adorning his lips once more. Clary's eyes narrowed as she craned her neck in an attempt to view some scenery through the windshield. Jonathon promptly yanked her back down to the floor. "Don't worry, Clary. You won't be there for long. I already have several billionaires willing to spend a small fortune on one night with you." Clary made a move to smash her head into her father's, but had something pressed up to her nose, and as she breathed in, her world went black.

x.O.X.O.X

"Alec, any hits on where the house may be?" Alec shook his head as his fingers worked over the keyboard, moving way too quickly for Jace's eyes to keep up.

"Every possible one has checked out so far," Alec muttered, frustrated, slamming his fist into the desk when yet another house failed to be the one. "You'd be surprised at how many old red houses are in quiet suburbs." Alec scrolled through a list of codes Jace couldn't make out, so instead, he popped the tab to a cold BudLight and turned his attention out the window. It looked out over Central Park, a few many New Yorkers would kill for, yet Alec always had his blackout curtains drawn tightly, like some sort of vampyric ritual was always occurring in there. He watched some people scurrying toward a shiny black van, screaming and waiving their cell phones around frantically. Someone must have been abducted. Jace reached into his pocket to dial 911, but Alec's whoop of excitement drew his attention elsewhere. "I think I've found it." He pointed to a map on his screen, showing the location of the old red house. It was nearly isolated, the closest house being at least six hundred yards away. There was a large attached garage, making it easy for them to transfer the slaves without anyone noticing, and all the windows were shuttered ominously, hiding any activities happening inside.

"That's definitely house, Jace agreed, grabbing his coat from the sofa, weighted down by the pistol in his pocket. "Let's go."

X.O.X.O.X

Clary was tied to a four poster bed when she finally came to, sunlight streaming in through gauzy white curtains over the window. The flowery wallpaper was old and yellowed and peeling away from the walls, falling in flakes onto the stained red carpet. The air smelled like mold and dirt, making Clary's nose crinkle. She moved her wrist to test the strength of her bindings, finding them stretchy enough that with effort she could bring her arm down to her side. This was definitely not the home she'd stayed in before.

"Ah, good morning, sister," Jonathon purred from the doorway, a tray of food resting in his hands. "I didn't think that chloroform would knock you out for most of the day, but I guess you are pretty tiny." His footsteps were silent, muffled by the carpet as he approached her and set the tray on the table by her bed. The mattress groaned under his weight as he sat at the end, dust motes taking to the air and tickling a sneeze from her chest. "You know," Jonathon continued, "I really don't understand what those men see in you." He reached out and jerked up her chin, as if appraising her value. "You're pale. You're short. You're scrawny. You don't have any boobs whatsoever, and your hair is the color of a carrot." His words didn't sting. Clary didn't care that her brother thought she was ugly. It was better that way. He wouldn't pay so much attention to her if she appeared plain and weak.

Her stomach growled, and she found a tasteless hunk of bread being shoved between her teeth. She tried to spit it out, but Jonathon incessantly pushed it back in. "Eat up. Father ordered me to make sure you didn't attempt to starve yourself again." Jonathon reached up and made her jaws chew the food, before holding her nose shut until she was forced to swallow so she didn't suffocate. "See? There you go. Now father has a little gift for you, but first you have a job to do." After pushing a seringe full of drugs into her arm, Jonathon reached up and untied her limbs as the doors opened and a hefty man strolled through, an eager look on his face. Jonathon winked as he closed the door behind him.

The man grinned as he stripped both of them of their clothing and took away what little pride she'd gotten back, the sedative preventing her from doing anything to stop him.

X.O.X.O.X

"Fuck!" Jace yelled, pounding his fist straight through the wall of the basement. It was definitely the house Clary had been talking about. There were about sixteen bedrooms, each with three or four beds. The sheets were dirty, wrinkled, as if whoever had been here just up and left. _Or fled_. Alec stared around in shock. Alcohol bottles littered the floor, baggies and injectors which had once held drugs nesting right alongside them. Women's undergarments and clothes were strewn on every possible surface, and red splatters, presumably blood, painted the room. Jace yanked open a small closet, a mountain of sweatpants, jeans, t-shirts, dresses, sweaters, and shoes falling to the ground. Jace nudged the pile with his toe, a shimmering black tank top catching his eye. He reached out and grabbed it, holding it up in what little light there was.

_"God, Izzy, can we leave now?" Jace groaned from a bench in the mall, watching Izzy exit yet another store with a handful of bags. She added it to the ever growing pile around Jace and Alec's feet, grinning in triumph as they groaned in agony. "Seriously? What else could you ever need?" _

_ Jace watched Isabelle's eyes scan the windows of the stores around them, observing what possibilities the insides may hold. "That," she said suddenly, a perfectly manicured finger aiming their attention at a window of a small boutique, the mannequin dressed in a sequined black tank top and a short silver skirt. "I need that."_

Jace knotted the garment around his finger, turning to find Alec hyperventilating over a rather large puddle of blood. "What if it was hers?" he asked, his voice breaking as he turned to Jace, his blue eyes losing their icy hardness and melting into tears. Alec sniffled, and Jace clapped a hand on his back.

"We're going to find her, bro. Besides, Izzy's blood would sparkle."

X.O.X.O.X

After the heavier man had left, Jonathon returned, dragging a tall girl behind him. "Your gift from father," was all he said as he shoved her down onto the mattress beside Clary and locked them both into the room. Her black hair was long, matted with dirt and sweat, her dark eyes sullen and glassy. "Izzy!" Clary called, catching the girl's head as it lolled to one side. She checked for a pulse, breathing a sigh of relief as she felt the light thrumming of her friend's pulse. As best as she could with being tied up, she settled Isabelle onto the bed beside her. Her eyes shifted slowly about the room, and Clary wondered what they had given her. Probably some form of sedative so she couldn't fight as they transferred her from one room to another. "Isabelle," Clary said, tapping her cheek lightly. The dark eyes landed on her face, welling up with tears as she tried to speak. "It's okay, Iz. I'm glad you're alive." Isabelle's eyes moved faster, as the short term drug began to wear off. "I met your brother, Jace." Isabelle's eyes widened as she began to blink more rapidly to hold back the tears. "He told me he's been looking for you. He said that he's never going to stop."

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_Um...not sure if I like this one...review?_


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